


Whatever Happened to Miss Campbell?

by Parrot_Assbutt



Series: Let's Get This Dread AU [1]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Joey Drew is an idiot, Magic, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27456001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parrot_Assbutt/pseuds/Parrot_Assbutt
Summary: No one had heard from Susie for about a week. Word around the studio was that Joey had asked her for some kind of favor and she hadn't shown up to work since.
Relationships: Susie Campbell/Joey Drew, if you squint
Series: Let's Get This Dread AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006011
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Whatever Happened to Miss Campbell?

Joey set the bucket of acetone down and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Don't you go anywhere." He said, as if the bucket was going to get up and dance away, sloshing and spilling its contents all over the place. The talking helped, he supposed. Reminded him it was all real, and not some silly dream from his medication, not just dazed and confused from the chemical fumes of acetone and turpentine.

Joey Drew may have been foolish, but he was not wholly incompetent.

The circle sat before him like a crucifix hanging overhead, sigils for protection ( _containment_ ) painted in between the lines. He’d left Susie waiting in a similar circle in the room next door; the room would simply have been too cramped with the ritual setup. A large tub of ink was set in the very center, about five gallons full. He figured if the human body was all liquid, specifically if it was Alice Angel, it would be roughly that amount. Creating one model wouldn't require use of the machine—not like he could afford the extra expense on the utilities bill anyhow—and he thumbed through the dog-eared pages of the Codex for the proper spell.

He’d be lying if he claimed to understand everything in the Codex, but what researcher ever understood their field entirely? ( _Provided, he could hardly read the chapter titles starting with “X”, but he could take a guess what “bioarcana” was. “Bio” was life; surely he could animate a figure with something from this section!_ ). It was too late for second-guesses anyhow; he couldn’t make Susie wait in the other ritual room too long. With the paintbrush he used for the floor circles, he painted symbols on the backs of his hands and laid them on the ink.

Had anyone else been present, they would have seen Joey stumble through pure gibberish noise that sounded vaguely like human speech, immediately followed by the studio lights flashing and going out. His eyes rolled back and he was flung back across the room, an abrupt scream coming from the next room and cutting off just as suddenly. The lights flickered back on, and Joey peeled his face off the floor. His vision had blacked out from being thrown; he fumbled around the floor until he was sure he could sit up without keeling over. 

“Susie? Susie, did it work?”

No response, save for the hum of the light. The darkness ebbed from his sight and he could see, in the circle, the ink bubbling up like a fountain.

No.

It was _moving_.

The ink rose from the container, now over Joey’s head, and a stream reached out for him, branched like a drooping willow tree ( _a hand that was a_ hand). He scrambled back against the wall, hand hitting the cold metal of the bucket. Of course. If he timed it right… Joey paused just for a second, and looked where the figure’s face would be.

An eye. He could make out a handful of teeth coated in ink, and a single eye, darting around in a frenzy.

Whether that frenzy was violent or scared, he wasn’t about to wait and see. He didn’t want to see. He’d seen enough: the model failed to take shape. The figure lumbered forward, arm still outstretched; he sprang to his feet, bucket in hand, and threw its contents forth.

The figure let out an inhuman screech that left Joey clamping his hands over his ears. But it had worked. The model was melting, ink still contained in the circle. Joey leaned against the wall to breathe, and hurried out of the room.

“Susie? Susie, it didn’t work. Let’s wrap it up and try again next week.”

Nothing.

“Susie?”

He found the adjacent room empty. Perhaps she’d been spooked by the power going out?

“Susie! Suzette!”

Joey ran through every unlocked room on the floor. By the time he circled back to the ritual room, it was nearly two in the morning.

The studio was empty, save for him.

She must’ve gotten tired of waiting and went home for the night. He could hardly blame her for it; a beauty needed her rest. Next time she came over he’d treat her to dinner, maybe he’d stay up to hear a radio drama with her.

In the ritual room, the model hadn’t melted away entirely, reduced to a squelching mass on the floor, its cries now quieted to raspy moans. With a tired sigh, Joey cracked his back and wiped away an opening in the circle, hefting the living failure over his shoulder.

“Suppose I’ll put you in storage, until I think of what to do with you.”

The model only moaned in( _pain? No, they couldn’t feel pain, there was no way_ )comprehensibly.

Down in the film vault, near the Bendyland storage, Joey shoved the heavy metal door open, balancing the model on his shoulder. A projector clicked and he winced, bracing for the blinding light. It shone even behind his eyelids; he forced a smile through his clenched jaw.

“Hey there, pal! I gotta go for the night, but I brought ya some company!” And with that he gracelessly heaved the model into the vault and slammed the door, bolting up the stairs and out the studio door like a literal demon was nipping at his heels.

Back in the vault, the projector light dimmed. The model, still an unstable mess, peered up from the floor.

A floating projector?—no, there were wires attached to it—a projector loomed over them, perched on a looming, dark figure. The model recoiled with a moan; it couldn’t do much else. The dark stranger approached, and the model felt hands lifting up, up, and they were now being held against another inky body, arms wrapped securely around them. Somewhere on their figure a speaker crackled to life, the scream of static tinged with a familiar sound.

_Susie?_

The rejected angel wept, and the old light-head held her.


End file.
